Passing Faces
by Liana Legaspi
Summary: "She's a stalker of little children, but in her defense, these are her friends. Granted, they all died years ago, but whatever. They're all back now and that's all that matters." In which the heroes of Olympus try for the Isles of the Blest and Thalia watches.


It's year 2301 and:

1. Thalia's still around, funny enough.

2. She's just realized she's been permanently suspended in puberty all this time.

3. She may or may not be going clinically insane.

4. It turns out there really are Egyptian gods and Kelp Head wasn't just screwing with everyone.

5. It's now officially the end of the world. (Although, technically there was nothing official about it, she just looked out the window one day and knew, _yeah, it's over_.)

But for whatever its worth, welcome to 2301.

* * *

There were a lot of speculations on how the apocalypse would start.

People generally wanted to know how it was all going to end. The rapture, global war, pollution, 2012 (and okay, that might've been a sucky year for some people, but overall it wasn't, like, "end of the world" bad)—if you asked anyone from the _Supernatural _fandom, it'd start when Dean Winchester unlocked the first seal in hell.

Point is, there were a plenty of ways for it to go down, most of which resulted in the fiery painful death of all mortal life, but there could've been worse endings. (Sort of.)

When Thalia was ten, she thought it'd be zombies for sure. Cannibalistic corpses; the best theory if you asked her. Not that she expected to actually live to see the day or anything—originally, she'd been hoping that it'd just be something for her great-grandkids to worry about, but she was wrong. On all three assumptions.

One, she's immortal. Two, in order to stay immortal, she can't actually have kids. (Not that she really wants any, if was possible, she'd skip from being single to being a grandma. That way she wouldn't have to stick around for the kid's teenage years.) And three, the apocalypse did not begin with zombies. It began with Aphrodite.

Or more accurately, her death.

Even after all this time, it's weird to think about a goddess actually dying—like the roll over and drop dead kind, but somehow, Aphrodite had done it. (Of course she'd done it. She triggered one of Hephaestus's a nuclear bombs once and came out like she was posing for a photoshoot; dirty and sweaty, yet somehow sexy. If anyone was going to defy all laws of immortality and keel over, it'd be her.)

Naturally, the Olympians are keeping it all on the down low and hiding it from their kids by sending them on a goose chase. Can't wait to see how that'll all go down when they realize the truth. In fact, she's half-tempted to stroll right into camp and tell them what's _really_ wrong with her.

Mean? Oh, yes, very. But to be fair, lying—especially to their kids—is so last century and adults should be smart enough by now to know that it always, _always_ backfires on them. ("The Lady Aphrodite has been attacked—" "Poison." "—Sick." "Missing goddess." "Find the culprit—" "Unbalanced Council—" "Dying" "Three half-bloods." "Rewards—")

Thalia snorts; _rewards_. This generation of demigods doesn't even do anything out of goodness or passion anymore. They have to dangle the whole rewards shtick in front of their noses to get them going. Her heart gives a little lurch.

She isn't an idiot. The gods can talk to her all day long and try to convince her otherwise, but deep down, she knows that Aphrodite is already gone. She isn't missing or sick—she had died.

The only way a god could.

Screams ring out overhead and Thalia could pick out the silhouettes of an angry couple through the window across the street. She lowered her gaze as soon as the man raised his hand to strike. All things considered, it shouldn't bother her. In comparison to plenty of other things, domestic abuse is nothing.

Police cars, ambulances, and firefighters were numerous and constant, and sirens could be heard all-day nonstop. Murder, arson, theft, assault—those are the new favorite past-time of pretty much everyone.

She knows the world is rotten.

You don't have to be smart to know see that, but still, she hadn't known it was bad enough for Aphrodite's domain to wither and fade away.

The absence of love. In hindsight, what else could the beginning of the end have been?

* * *

The gods are withered now, just shells of what they used to be.

Dark, heavy skies, poisonous air that racks your lungs if you're outside too long—you wouldn't think something like pollution could actually hurt a god, but it does. Zeus is sick. His face is always a sickly gray, his arms and legs thin and lanky. He slouches too. Which bothers Thalia because, well, he's a king. Kings don't slouch, especially not in their thrones. But Zeus does. (At least, now anyways.)

Poseidon isn't much better. His face is constantly hidden behind his hands, his beard's long and bushy, and his sea-green eyes are faded to a disgusting brown that reminds Thalia of sludge. He doesn't speak much anymore, but no one's really surprised. He can barely stand up anymore on one of his good days.

The others aren't so horrible. Apollo hardly smiles anymore, never sings, never recites poetry—which they should all be very thankful for, but Thalia can't help the lump that rises in her throat when she thinks of how it all used to be.

No one sees much of Dionysus anymore. They know he's somewhere around, all those people in mental hospitals, it's kind of hard for the god of madness to fade away. Thalia can't remember the last time she'd seen him drunk.

Hermes is doing all right, all things considered. Lying, thievery; it's not like there's of shortage of that in the world. Same goes for Hephaestus.

But then there's Hestia, poking around at ashes, trying hard to make the hearth light again. There's Athena, pale and glassy-eyed; Hera, too weak and bitter to even argue. And of course, there's Aphrodite's empty seat to think about.

And Ares—Ares had never looked better, and she feels sick.

Thalia tries to scream a couple words at him (preferably something that rhymes with "you clucking piece of pit"), but all that comes out are a couple of dry, racking coughs.

Even 600 floors above ground level and in an ultra-magical sky palace, the air still wasn't any good.

She could almost, almost could believe its just pollution; horrible, horrible pollution that Garfield or Grover or someone (never could keep the names straight anymore) used to rant about. It's just humans screwing up. But then she'll catch Zeus's eye every now and then, and her stomach will knot. And, she'll know, for once, this bit of misery isn't from the humans.

Funny, how when a god starts giving up, everyone else pays the price.

(Not that she can really be angry with him. It's not easy to be king of a rotten world.)

* * *

She's sitting outside and she feels a fever coming on. No special reason, just 'cause she forgot her breathing mask inside her tent and she's way too tired (or just sluggish, but who isn't nowadays?) to go all the way back to camp and grab it.

Plus, she's waiting.

Not completely sure what for, but her stomach feels like a big, flopping butterfly, so either she just gassy or something important is about to happen. She's hoping for the second one but counting on the first one. Call it: pessimism in order to achieve optimism—invented by yours truly, Nico Levesque.

Or maybe it was di Angelo?

She feels a little guilty, forgetting names like that, but at the same time, well…

It's not like they're going to bring them all back. Names hold power, but not _that _much power.

She stays a little longer, soaking in her surroundings. Years ago, this used to be New York City. Okay, technically speaking it still is, but when buildings are crumbling and haven't been reconstructed in forever and what used to be the U.S. is under dictatorship and no even cares about anything—well, no change there, but you get the gist.

Thalia was never really attached to NY like Peter (no—Percy) was, after all, when it really came down to it the place was just a big cluster of buildings and some monuments—but this wasn't New York. She refused to call it that. (Which was actually for her own benefit because their dictator—"President" Michaelis—renamed it, so there you go.)

She slowly drowns out the sirens, eyes glazing over and relives a happier time of quests and campfires and hunting. She's impressed with herself and a little surprised she can even remember. (Because let's face it, it's been a while since anyone was happy.) She vaguely realizes that Artemis is standing next to her, gently resting her hand on her shoulder, but she doesn't acknowledge her.

In the end, it's a baby's cry is what snaps her out of her thoughts. A little strange considering how she's, like, ninety percent sure she was born without a maternal instinct, but her head snaps toward the baby instantly.

A young, blonde mother stands at the corner, cradling a baby in her arms and holding a cigarette between her teeth. She rocks the baby up and down, trying to soothe it. "Shhh," she says and a stream of smoke drifts out.

Thalia's eyebrow twitches in irritating. Like breathing smoke into your baby's face was going to solve anything. Not to mention, neither of them are wearing any breathing masks (not that she's one to talk, she's not wearing one either but to be fair, she also doesn't have a baby to take care of.)

She's not completely sure why she does it. Maybe it's irritation at seeing an incompetent mom, but she stands up and stalks over to her.

Artemis watches her. "Thalia…?"

She doesn't answer.

"Hey!" she says, and the mom looks up, scowling just a little bit. Thalia holds her gaze. "Get inside—it's not safe for a kid."

The woman's eyes flash, and she bares her teeth at her. She points a crooked finger her way, and Thalia briefly thinks, _Oh no, a finger. What ever will I do?_ Because, please, she'd faced much scarier things than a snarling mom.

"No, really?" the woman snarls. "You think I haven't noticed?"

The baby keeps wailing, and the blonde bounces her around in her arms. If possible, the kid screams even louder. In hindsight, Thalia realizes it was stupid, but he seriously needed to stop crying because if he didn't, the police were going to come around thinking they were committing homicide and that wasn't going to fly.

She snatches the baby away from the woman without even asking for permission (which isn't being rude; no one uses please anymore) and begins to hum _"Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" _out of habit. He quiets down instantly.

Thalia smirks at the other woman. "There, see?" she taunted. "It's not that hard to—"

She glances down and the world stops spinning.

The baby has blue eyes. Not just any blue either—clear _sky_ blue. (And gods, how long has been since she's even seen that color.) Small, wispy tufts of blond peak out from underneath his bonnet and his cheeks are rosy.

He's just a baby. There plenty of babies who look like him—it's not there's a shortage of blue-eyed blonds or anything (especially now that doctors know how to fiddle with your unborn kid's DNA to make them look like anyone or, in some cases, anything). But this mom is dirt poor, and Thalia gets the vibe she couldn't care less about her baby even if she tried.

There's no mistaking who it is. (Or was.)

Her arms are shaking when she hands the boy back to his mom. "Take care of him," she says, and it's not a question. Her eyes glint. "Don't you dare give him up. Not again."

Thalia walks away before the blonde can even think of what to say to that—if she did respond, Thalia didn't catch it. Only one word was on her mind.

_Jason_.

On a completely non-coincidental note, when she passes by the dock, she finds a little boy and girl poking at the water. If his sea-green eyes and her blonde curls jogged any memories, she didn't say anything.

But now her heart beating quickly, and for the first time in a long, long time, she laughs. And she thinks, _Maybe. Maybe it's not all over yet._

(It's a surprise to everyone but her when Aphrodite stumbles into the throne room a few years later, weak and barely able to speak—but alive.)

* * *

Thalia's a stalker of little children, but in her defense, these are her friends. Granted, they all died years ago, but whatever. They're all back now and that's all that matters.

She watches them a lot. She was there when Piper was born. She saw Nico alone on the corner checking out comic books. She's seen Jason go great at school, she's seen Percy do…well, no to great but A for effort. Granted, those aren't actually their names, but decides to take a page out of Dionysus's book and not give a crap.

She might be inclined to feel a little guilty for prying into all their lives, but she knows she's not the only one. Zeus, Poseidon, Hephaestus—even Ares all watch them. They're all waiting.

And no one's really sure what for, it'd honestly be great to have an Oracle right about now but the spirit of Delphi died off along with Rachel, so they really don't have anything to go on. Who knows, maybe there really is nothing to wait for. Maybe they're all just feeling a little nostalgic. Maybe it's all just in their heads.

But then Percy storms out of school—without being dismissed, and Annabeth's trailing along after him.

He's angry. Well, actually they're both angry, but Percy's the one glaring at the sky and vandalizing school property.

At first, Thalia thinks it's just a normal kind of the "stub your pink toe on a chair leg" kind of mad, but then he starts talking. Ranting, if you want to be specific—but it's not about grades or stupid teachers or anything like that, it's about President Michaelis.

And he had absolutely nothing nice to say about him.

Thalia doesn't know what happened to get him in this mood. Maybe it was just a sudden realization that the president and everything about this world is crap, maybe it was just a slow build-up of injustices and now he's finally exploding, either way, this is how the revolution begins.

Figures, it'd be Percy and Annabeth to stop the end of the world. Even in a completely different lifetime, those two don't know how to stop being heroes.

* * *

There's more than a hundred rebels, and Thalia recognizes each of them (even if their names are a little fuzzy).

She sees a strong, tall girl with brown hair cropped short and hidden behind a bandana. She tosses a grenade up and down idly, and Thalia isn't completely sure why in Hades she'd bring a grenade to the rally, but she doesn't bother asking.

Two boys with mischievous face weave in and out of the crowd. Kids with familiar grey eyes huddle around a table, and even though Thalia can't hear what they're saying, she gets that it's important. A boy with an eye patch, a kid drinking wine straight from the bottle, Piper, Leo, Frank, Nico—everywhere she turns, she gets a serious sense of déjà vu.

When she looks up, it's even worse. (But in the best possible way 'cause it's hard to look at those three faces and _not_ be ridiculously happy.)

Percy, Jason, and Annabeth stand above them all, strong and determined—the leaders. They're not demigods in this life. None of them are, but it doesn't make them any different. Annabeth, the strategist. Jason, the commander. And Percy, the one who started it all and the one who'll see this war through.

They're children. Thalia counts a whopping total of five adults in the room and by all rights, the capitol should crush them, but somehow, battle after battle they come out victorious and new recruits join every day.

(The air begins to clear, and now, if she looks hard enough, she can see the blue peeking out behind the clouds.)

* * *

Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase (or Sebastian and Bethany Hale in this life) are twenty years old and in prison.

The rebellion is a mess now. People are abandoning ship. Day by day they're numbers get that much smaller, and Jason's never felt more alone. Some people stay of course. Clarisse, Beckendorf, Ethan, Reyna, and a lot of other campers—rebels—refuse to give up.

But Thalia knows they're demoralized. Michaelis hit them where it hurt—Jason managed to escape, thank gods, but with Percy and Annabeth gone…

The wars going downhill now.

But that's so not okay. Thalia walks straight into the prison. Thirty, fifty, a hundred, she isn't quite sure how many people she fights to get through, but by the end her arms are sore and she can barely unlock the door.

When she does, Annabeth tries to kill her and not in friendly way. Rough, calloused hand wrap around Thalia's neck, but all it takes is a knee to the gut to get her off. Annabeth tumbles away from her, gasping. Thalia stares.

Annabeth's practically a skeleton with a thin layer of skin pulled over her bones. Her hair's been chopped off and matted with blood, and in the fluorescent light, eyes bugging out of her head and cheeks hollowed, she looks like a ghoul.

Thalia slowly extends her hand towards her and Annabeth freaking _snarls_. Thalia swallows. "It's okay," she tells her. "I'm here to help—I'm Jason's sist…friend."

Annabeth narrows her eyes at her. "'Jason?'"

She instantly realizes her mistake. "Jack," Thalia backtracks. "I meant Jack."

The other girl studies her carefully before slowly shaking her head. "You're not from the rebellion. Don't try to tell me you are, I know every single one of them. If this is one of Michaelis's stupid tricks, you can go tell him to—"

And she says a couple of choice words that funnel down to the same meaning: Michaelis really sucks at being president.

Thalia can't help the way her lips tilt up. "You know," she says off-handedly. "Technically, he's not really president, 'cause a president can only have up to, like, two four-year terms and Michaelis has been president for about…I don't know, twenty…"

Annabeth gives her a deadpan look, and Thalia shakes her head and pushes herself to her feet. She points at the next door over. "Perc—Sebastian's cell?" She doesn't wait for an answer though because who else could it be? As far as she knew, no had ticked off the capitol enough for them to install a freaking electric door that literally no one can open.

She reaches out to touch it, and Annabeth bolts up. "Wait, don't touch—"

The door tingles against her touch and she short-circuits it without even really trying. She braces herself for the attack, but Percy, huddled on the other end of the room only glances up. The smell of blood hits Thalia, and she's so not the type to get queasy over blood but right now, she's close to retching.

Percy raises a bloodied, mutilated hand up and Thalia can't help but notice that more than a few fingers point completely in the _wrong direction._

"Help."

His voice is so hoarse and quiet, but it's enough to shake Thalia out of it. One leg trails uselessly behind him as she carries him out, but she doesn't want to think about it. When Annabeth sees them, she jumps to her feet instantly, which is a good thing for Thalia because even though Percy's malnourished and all, she's having trouble carrying him.

Its slow and they stumble over the guards' bodies every now and then, but they get out. And come face to face with Jason, Leo, Piper, Frank, Hazel, and Nico. And it's great to see them and all, but Thalia can't help but think, _seriously? You couldn't even bring Will along or, you know, someone with actual medical talent?_

But she's tired to say any of this so she just lets them carry Percy and Annabeth away. As they turn to leave, Jason stops and looks back at her. His eyebrow wrinkle together. "I know you," he decides. "But I don't…I can't remember."

Thalia brushes herself off, but it only smears the blood over her shirt. She gives him a tiny grin. "Thalia Grace," she tells him, like that all the information he needs to know and maybe it is.

She turns away, quietly humming _"Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."_

* * *

Its year 2335, and they've won.

Not that Thalia doubted them or anything, but they definitely had a few close calls. The capitol's army surrendered, some even joined their side near the end—granted, they didn't actually kill President Michaelis, he jumped out a window when he saw it was over. And now that he's gone, they're working towards a better world.

It's a slow process, but they're doing it. Bit by bit.

The skies have cleared, the sea's clearing (somewhat), Aphrodite is back to her old self, the hearth's been relit, and Ares isn't so powerful anymore.

And Thalia's never been happier. She hunts with Artemis, she races up mountains, she climbs up to the highest peak—she's living now, for the first time in her immortal life, she's actually alive.

Time passes by in a blink though and it's not until she remembers civilization that she returns.

Returns to a cemetery of white headstones. "A HERO OF THE REVOLUTION" engraved on each one of them. Names swarm in her mind—Clara Lawrence, Penelope McQueen, Luke Vanders, Helen Lakesworth.

Jack Wilson and Sebastian and Bethany Hale are the names that stick out to her.

Their graves are at the front of them cemetery.

* * *

The next time she sees them all again, she feels old even if she hasn't aged any.

They grow up quickly and at different rates. This time Jason's two years older than Percy and Nico, and he's Annabeth's brother in this life—Thalia briefly wonders how Jason's going to react when he finds out that his best friend and sister have been sucking each other's faces in between classes, but she supposes they'll cross that bridge when they come to it.

Leo and the Stolls are adults by the time Jason's thirteen, but it doesn't really make a huge difference; Jason's still more mature than all of them put together. And by the time Clarisse is born, everyone else is a teenager, and if she still manages to dunk Percy's head in the toilet, Thalia will laugh.

She's almost certain that they must have group meetings down in Elysium to time when everyone's getting rebirthed so they can all be together. It's the only reasonable solution, and Thalia could so see that happening.

Everyone else is just watching them all again like last time, and Thalia knows it's not a good idea, but she can't help but slide into the MacDonalds booth across from Piper (yes, McDonalds is pretty much the only thing that hasn't changed all this time—including their artificial meat).

Piper gives her a funny look at first, but then shrugs it off. "If this is a date, you're paying for my food," is all she says before digging in like eating with a total stranger is normal.

(She's not the only one who can't keep her distance though. Calypso gets a job at an electronics department just so she can see Leo every day.)

If they think it's funny how, years later, she still looks the same as the first time she met each of them, they don't ask any questions.

* * *

Its year 2564, and it feels like the world is ending even though it isn't. (Percy and everyone already took care of that little issue two centuries ago.)

Nico di Angelo doesn't make it to the Isles of the Blest.

Some gangs, a turf war, he got caught in the crossfire—the details are fuzzy, but Thalia knows one thing: he's dead.

And she's suddenly not so sure on how the whole breathing thing is supposed to work. He was seven years old on his third life, the past two of which he scored Elysium. Just _this _close to getting the Isles of the Blest.

And now, he's stuck in Asphodel.

They weren't as close as everyone else made them out to be; everyone just assumed that since they were cousins, they were best friends but it wasn't like that (she had a no boys policy and he had a loner complex).

In fact, if she was being honest, he had never meant a whole lot to her when he was alive—at least, not like say, Jason or Annabeth—but right now, she's crying and so far, there doesn't seem to be an end to the waterworks. She wants to break something. She wants to throw a goddess-sized temper tantrum until the Fates erase it and bring him back.

But she knows it won't work (and not for lack of trying).

Little details about him jump out at her as she sits at his funeral. The little mole on the corner of his mouth, his bitten fingernails, that little chip on his tooth. The realization sinks and she's left feeling numb and exhausted.

Thalia knows Hades visits him (even though it's kind of against the rules and he could get in trouble). But knowing that doesn't do anything to soften the truth: he'll never see any of them again. No one will. Like always, he was going to be alone. Now and forevermore.

And the worst thing? He'll never even know how much of a hero he really is.

She catches Percy pressing a stack of mint conditioned Mythomagic cards into Nico's cold hands, and she unravels.

Thalia hides in the back of the church and cries.

* * *

It's a delicate process, sneaking into one's hospital room.

Not that she wasn't already very experienced in the art. Jason, Leo, Annabeth, Katie, Reyna—she'd snuck into each of their rooms, which isn't as creepy as it sounded. In fact, they always seemed very excited to see her, when they got over the shock of realizing she was an immortal teenager and everything.

She spreading monster dust all over the hospital's pristine, white-tiled floors, but she didn't have time to change. Thalia slowly walks toward the bed, eyes never leaving his face. His eyes don't leave hers either.

Sea-green eyes widen a little in surprise. "They were telling the truth," he said, voice full of awe. "I thought maybe it was just the old age getting to them, but it's true." He took her hand, and Thalia let him. "You haven't aged a day."

She smirks at him, a little smug. "Jealous?"

He snorts. "Of you? Never." His tone is light, but he's still looking at her like she's from another world. And yeah, she supposes she kind of is.

For a second, she thinks he's going to keep asking her how she's still alive. How she's still just a fifteen year old, but then he closes his eyes and relaxes.

"Tell me a story," he says suddenly.

Thalia glances up at him. If it were any other time, she'd ask him why he was in the mood for a bedtime story, but it's not like any other time. This is the very last time she will ever see him again, and yes, while he still manages to be a Kelp Head in three different lives, she won't let the last thing she says to him be an insult.

Now wasn't the time for that.

So she scoots her chair closer to his side, and she begins. "Once upon a time, there was a boy named Percy Jackson. He was on a bus filled with troubled twelve year olds…"

* * *

**Not quite how I wanted it to turn out, but I'm experimenting with different writing styles and tenses and I'm not so sure this one works for me. Anyways, that's my excuse for the not-so-fluid wording. Hope you enjoyed anyways.**


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